


If I Lose Myself Tonight

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Stanford Era, gratuitous use of the word baby, seriously, these boys have filthy mouths, way too much brother kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Denver.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. You can feel the light start to tremble

Everything is wrong. Nothing is right.

The music is all wrong. It’s not an AC/DC night, or Metallica, or even a night for Zeppelin. Dean aches for some music he can almost feel, something he’s never heard. Something bluesy from a smoky bar somewhere. A woman with a whiskey-dark voice singing about a love who’s done her wrong.

The road should be dark, wet with rain; the reflections of the red tails lights like spilled rubies on the ground. Instead there is only fog. Fog that gathers in the depressions of this undulating road while the Impala plunges into the mist and rises out it over and over. Dean imagines her roof surfacing like the back of a killer whale.

The last long decline slides them into a pea-soup fog that doesn’t dissipate. After a mile or so, Dean capitulates, admitting defeat, and pulls the car over to the side of the road. Only an idiot would keep driving in this. Zero visibility and no real destination. Nothing to see, nowhere to go.

Dean props his arm up on the window, rests his head in his hand, and sighs. He turns and looked at the empty passenger’s seat. Still empty. One year down the road. And that’s what it is. Tonight is one year since Sam slammed out of the house and out of his life.

Dean feels restless and reckless and he wishes he had something to kill. Maybe he’ll get lucky and a wendigo will come crashing out of the dark strand of trees, through the fog.

He rubs his hands on his thighs, trying to calm himself down. When that doesn’t work, he palms the steering wheel. He finds himself flipping his cell phone over and over in his hand. He flips it open and scrolls down the list of names. He stops at Sam. 

White fog presses against all the windows. Maybe it’s the end of the world. He looks at the phone, full bars. Probably not the apocalypse then. He taps the phone against his teeth, staring out at the nothing. The buttons are smooth under his thumb. Oh fuck it, what can it hurt? They’ve talked a couple of times since. Just casual. They can keep it casual.

The window is cold against his temple as he listens to the phone ring.

“Hey.”

Sam’s voice is rough with sleep, and Dean realizes he has no idea what time it is. He’s not quite sure what day it is. “Hey,” he says back. “Did I wake you up?”

He can practically see Sam blinking as he tries to orient himself. Sam never wakes up easy. “Uh, yeah,” Sam answers. “I guess. I was studying.”

Chuckling a little, Dean changes hands with the phone, shifting so his back is against the door and his legs can stretch out across the seat. “Not the first time you’ve fallen asleep studying. I remember when you fell asleep on that spiral notebook and had lines pressed into your cheek for hours. Not to mention drool on your math notes.”

Sam snorts a laugh, and Dean hears the scrape of a chair as Sam stands up. “Yeah. Passed the test though.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair and stares into the dark. “Well, yeah, Sammy. You passed them all. Fuckin’ genius, remember?”

There’s silence for a minute and Dean hears the pop of a refrigerator door opening, then the clinking of beer bottles. It reminds him he’s got some stashed in the back seat. Not like he’s going anywhere anytime soon. He wedges the phone between his shoulder and ear as he reaches into the paperbag in the back. He drops back down into the seat to hear Sam’s tinny voice.

“...still there?”

“Yeah, just grabbing a beer. Heard you getting one, sounded like a good idea.” He pops the top off with his ring, holding the bottle out in a silent toast he knows Sam can’t see before taking a swig. “So,” he says, settling in deeper against the door. “How you doing? One year down.”

Sam’s sigh flows through the phone. “It’s...it’s different. It’s good. Yeah, good. I’m doing good.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, sounded great there, kiddo. How about you try again.” Dean’s heart speeds up just a bit. He hates himself for enjoying hearing that things might not be perfect in Sam’s perfect world. “I thought you’d be teacher’s pet and neck deep in hot co-eds by now.” He’s waiting for the bitchface-sigh and probably something along the lines of ‘no one says co-eds anymore, Dean.'”

What he gets is a long stretch of silence, and then his name whispered so low he’s not sure he didn’t imagine it. He sits up a little straighter, ready to jump into action, take care of whatever is hurting his little brother. “Sammy? You okay?”

Sam’s voice is low. “I miss you.” 

It’s a confession, an admission of something Dean can’t understand. He chokes down the sentences fighting to spill from his mouth. Things like _you left me_ and _the phone works both ways_ , and, worst of all, _please come home_. Home. That’s a joke. There’s no place for Sam to come home to. 

“Dean?” Sam sounds worried. Like he’s heard all the things Dean hadn’t said. He probably did. They know each other in ways that aren’t normal or healthy. 

Dean sighs, and rubs a hand across his face. “Yeah.” He finishes the last of the beer and reaches over for the bag. The bottle of cheap whiskey is cool in his hand. It’s going to be that kind of night. Dean hopes the cops don’t mind people parking along this stretch of road. “Yeah,” he repeats. “I miss you, too.”

“I know,” Sam pauses. “I mean. I know I don’t get to say that. I’m sorry.”

Dean bangs his head against the window. “Don’t, Sam. You got nothing to apologize for.” The night has closed in completely now. The odd nighttime fog still lingering, pressing against the glass in places like it’s reluctant to leave. It’s quiet and dark and Dean is alone and no one is around to see or hear him. Sam’s a voice on the phone, an abstraction of the force of nature that is Sam in person. And Dean lets himself feel the heartache he usually keeps down under lock and key. Maybe it’s safe, now, to let some things out.

“I know I...hurt you.” Sam sounds thin, as stretched and hollow as Dean feels. “I wasn’t trying to get away from you.”

“I know,” Dean answers. He takes a long swallow right from the bottle. “Hey, you got anything stronger than beer there?”

He can feel Sam’s puzzlement. “Yeah. Why?”

“Go get it. I hate drinking alone.” He doesn’t hear any movement. “Go. We’re gonna have a heart to heart, okay? And I ain’t doing it with both of us sober.”

“Really?” Sam sounds nervous.

“Really, really,” Dean answers. He’s not so sure about this either. But maybe none of this is real anyway. Maybe he’s asleep. “It’s a limited-time offer, Sammy. Now or never. Chop chop.” Silence is Sam’s only reply. _Shit_. He’s an idiot. Sam doesn’t want to talk to him. He takes another long slug. “Or not. I can let you - “

“No! No.” Sam cuts him off. “No. Please. I...I want to. Give me a second.”

It’s longer than a second, but Dean doesn’t mind. He hears Sam moving around and tries to picture him in an apartment Dean’s never seen, surrounded by things that have nothing to do with Dean. He hears the groan of a mattress and then Sam’s saying “back” into the phone.

“In bed already?” he asks.

“Seemed like a good idea. What about you? Where are you?”

Dean looks out into the night. “God only knows. Trapped on the side of the road in Illinois somewhere I think. Freak fog situation. Probably gonna just sleep here tonight. It’s not too cold.”

“Like Roanoke,” Sam answers. “Worst fog I’d ever seen.”

“Yeah, just like that. But this time I won’t have your snoring to keep me up all night.”

“Whatever. At least I don’t hog the covers.” Dean can hear Sam swallowing. “So,” Sam is saying hesitantly. “Talking?”

“Yeah. It’s a new thing I thought I’d try out. I drink, and say something. And then you do it. Okay? Our very own drinking game. We say anything we want. No holds barred.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah. Sure. Sounds just dysfunctional enough for us. You first. What do you mean I have nothing to apologize for?”

Dean shakes his head. That’s easy. He’s had time to think about what Sam did and why. “I get. You had to go. This life, it’s ... you’re too good for it. I’m glad you got out. I’m proud of you.” He drinks a long shot. “Your turn.”

“Dean,” Sam sounds pained. “Fuck. It’s not...” 

Dean taps out a rhythm on the dashboard waiting for Sam to say something else. “C’mon, Sam. Talk and drink. Doesn’t work if it’s just me.”

“Yeah, okay.” There’s a long pause while Sam drinks. “I miss you, man,” he finally says.

“You already said that. Doesn’t count. I miss you, too. That’s a gimmie.”

He hears static and imagines Sam shaking his head like he does, phone rustling against the pillow. “No. Like, I really miss you. Like a ... a fuckin’ phantom limb. It took me months to sleep through the night.”

Dean barks a short laugh. “Just like when you were a baby. Wouldn’t sleep through the night for forever. Just cried until I crawled into the fucking crib with you.”

“Yeah,” Sam’s sigh is a lost, lonely thing. “Yeah. Like that.”

They both drink. Dean’s not a lightweight, but he hasn’t eaten in a while, and the Jack is going to his head quicker than normal. It’s all part of this surreal night.

“Can’t sleep without you, Dee,” Sam is saying.

“Want me to come crawl into your crib again, baby boy?” And _fuck_ Dean didn’t mean for his voice to sound like that. Fuck.

Sam inhales through his teeth, and Dean rests his head against his clenched fist. 

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I do.” His laugh has no humor in it. “Jesus. I need a long drink for this. Hold on.” 

Dean can’t process that just yet, so he counts the seconds while Sam drinks. Seven seconds before Sam’s back on the line. Damn. Sam’s going to be wrecked for sure. He’s always been a lightweight. “Sam?” he says. He’s going to need some more explanation.

“I keep thinking,” Sam says voice oddly flat. “I just keep thinking that if you could just crawl into my bed, where...where you belong, I could sleep.”

“Jesus,” Dean exhales. “Sam. I...” He remembers nights sleeping with Sam’s breath on his neck, mornings waking up twined together, way past the ages where it was acceptable. He remembers Sam pressed hard and hot against his back, and he feels a completely inappropriate stab of lust.

So maybe he’s not alone in this, alone in feeling like he’s been torn in half. He pushes his feet into the passenger’s seat. “I can’t stop thinking of you in my car, where you belong.” _Fuck,_ he must be getting drunk.

Sam makes a soft hurt sound that makes Dean want to pull him into his body. It’s been so long since he’s felt Sam against him. Felt his hands on Dean’s body, fixing him, stitching him up. Sam should know that. Know how Dean misses him. “It’s been a year since you touched me, Sam.” Dean closes his eyes, leans his head back against the cool glass. “I keep thinking of your hands. You have great hands.” Dean drinks again, head spinning. He thinks of Sam’s hands on him, and he clenches his teeth against a moan, shifting his hips to relieve the pressure on his dick.

Sam’s breathing a little heavy into the phone and it echoes in Dean’s ear. “I, uh, I miss your mouth,” he says, almost too softly for Dean to hear. Almost.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, voice dropping down deep and husky. “You been thinking about my mouth, little brother?”

Sam’s moan goes right to Dean’s dick. He presses against it, dying to yank down the zipper on his jeans and relieve the pressure, but he can’t. He won’t. This is not going like he’d thought it would. His brain is providing him with so many, many wrong mental pictures of how he could use his mouth on Sam. He’s got to stop. He draws in a ragged breath. “I...Shit. This whiskey is going right to my head. Your’s too, I bet. Never could drink, Sam.”

He can hear Sam shaking his head. “No. No, Dean. One-time offer, remember? Don’t ...don’t hang up on me.”

“Never,” Dean interrupts. “I could never.” He takes a slow pull off the bottle, letting it roll around his mouth. He licks his lips tasting the whiskey. He wonders what it would taste like off Sam’s lips. “You drinking?” he asks.

Sam laughs. “Yeah. Part of the game. And it’s your turn. Say something.”

Dean caps the bottle, nestles it between his legs, glass hard against him. “Okay.” His voice has slipped back down. “I was just wondering what the whiskey would taste like if I licked it off your lips.”

“Dean,” Sam whines.

And Dean really hopes this is all just a dream but he doesn’t try to take it back. 

“Dean,” Sam repeats in a whisper. “Come here. Please. Come to me.”

Dean groans. Every cell in his body wants to, except the voice deep in his head telling him it would be the worst idea ever. “I can’t, Sammy. I’m drunk and the fog and I’m two fucking thousand miles away. I can’t.”

“But you want, too?”

“Every damn day. Every day.” He pinches the bridge of his nose tightly, fighting back the tears

“Tomorrow. Come tomorrow.” Sam is begging. “I need to see you. I need to feel you.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. John is god knows where, and Dean is so lonely. And so tired of being alone. He’s tired of not getting what he wants. And he wants this badly. “Yeah, just give me a few hours sleep.”

“God,” Sam exhales. The silence stretches as the reality of what they’re saying settles in. “I want..,” Sam says. “Dean, I want. You. I mean, do you...”

Dean lets his hand drift down to his cock, rubbing it gently through the denim. It’s so wrong, but he can’t stop thinking about Sam now. “Yeah,” he growls. “Yeah, Sam. I want. I’m going to go to hell for it, but I want.” He slips his hands under the waist of his jeans, his breath harsh in the confines of the car.

“You want my hands?” Sam asks, voice honey-thick like Dean has never heard it. Sam's just a kid. How can he sound like that? “Dean,” Sam almost snaps. Dean’s dick jumps at that. “Tell me. Do you want my hands on you when you get here?”

“Yeah. God, yes.” He pulls down the zipper of his pants and wraps his hand around his hard cock. His voice hitches. “My turn,” he rasps out. “You been thinking about my mouth? Been picturing it around that monster cock I know you’ve got?”

Sam just whimpers in reply, and Dean smirks. “I want that, too.” He slides his hand up and down, imagination running wild. “Yeah, can’t you see it, Sammy? I’m gonna push you up against the wall. Kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

“Promise?” Sam gasps. 

“Promise,” Dean says. Asked and answered like a million time before, and yet nothing like before. “Gonna take good care of you. You still on that bed?”

“Yeah.”

Dean hums his approval. “Good. Are you touching yourself yet? I want you to jerk it nice and slow while I tell you what I’m gonna do to you in 24 hours.”

“Twelve,” Sam barks. “Twelve. Gonna, gonna steal a car. Meet you in Denver.”

Dean laughs low and dark. “That’s my boy. Well, then, In Denver. I’m going to push you up against that wall, and take off whatever stupid shirt you’re wearing, Can’t wait, huh? Can’t wait til I’m on my knees in front of you? Got your cock out and your fucking huge hands on my head, holding me.” Goddamn. Dean can’t wait for that either. Can almost feel it. He strokes a little harder, a little faster, breath catching in his throat. He gasps out a moan.

“God,” Sam groans. “You will, won’t you? Just, just drop down for me. Your fucking mouth on me.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees around a moan. “You gonna try and fuck my mouth, aren’t you? I know what a pushy bitch you are. Gonna hold my head and just shove it in?”

“Dean!” Sam’s cry is ragged. “Shit, Dean.”

“Don’t come yet, little brother.”

Sam bites off a sharp cry. “Don’t, don’t call me that. I can’t...”

Dean’s grip tightens and he shudders with the effort of holding off his orgasm. “Jesus.” Being brothers just takes what they’re doing from hot to incendiary. Hell. They’re both going. But what a way to go. “Just..just hold on. I’m not going to let you. I’m still stronger than you. Gonna hold you again the wall. You’re gonna have bruises on your hips for days. I’m gonna make it last, just suck you until you’re whining and begging for me to let you come. Begging for me to - “

“Fuck me,” Sam cuts him off. “God, Dean. Want you to fuck me. Please. _Please_.” Sam’s voice trails off into huffed pants, curses, and soft begging.

Dean’s hand on his cock speeds up. That’s it, there’s no going back now. Anybody would come from Sam’s voice in their ear, begging them to fuck him. “Yeah, shit. Fuck, Sam. I’ll take good care of you. Fuck you, _ah, ah_. Fuck you so slow and hard and so good. Wanna see you, feel you coming on my cock.”

Sam’s cries are getting higher and faster. Dean can tell he’s close and he would sell a kidney to be able to see Sam’s face as he comes. ‘’Come on, Sammy. Come on, baby boy. Want to hear you. Come for me.” He groans deep and hard. 

“Dean!” Sam shouts. “God, Dean.” Sam curses a steady stream of _fuck, fuck, fuck_ as he comes. 

Dean grunts as his orgasm shoves all the air out of his lungs. He twists against the seat as he comes painfully hard all over his hand, his stomach, and the back of the seat.

When he comes back to himself, he throws an arm over his eyes and tries to slow his breathing. He can hear Sam panting on the other end of the line. Eventually, they both get their breath back enough to talk.

Dean’s the first to break the silence. “Sammy?” Everything always seems different post-orgasm. He’s not going to hold Sam to anything he’s said when his dick was hard.

“Still here,” Sam sounds happy and sleepy. “Fucking feel goooood,” he drawls out.

Dean laughs. He reaches over, pulls some napkins out of the glove compartment, and starts to clean off with a grimace. “So, tomorrow?” He leaves it hanging there.

“Denver,” Sam slurs into the phone. Dean can tell he’s almost asleep. “Going to meet you in Denver. Twelve hours?”

“I need some sleep. Let’s make it sixteen.”

Sam makes a sound of sleepy agreement. “Hmm. Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?” He reaches in the back for the spare blanket. The steering wheel is annoying, but he’s too wrecked to bother getting into the back. Besides, he’s only going to sleep a few hours.

“I don’t think you’re stronger than me anymore.” Sam’s breathing is getting deeper and smoother.

Dean smiles into the phone. “Well I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Denver?” Sam asks.

“Denver.” Dean balls up his jacket for a pillow. “Go to sleep, Sam.”

“Night, Dean.”

“Night, Sammy.”

Dean keeps the line open until he hears Sam fall asleep, then slides down into the seat dreaming of Denver.


	2. Washing what you know out to sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denver.

The La Quinta off of I-25 has even less character than their usual places, but at least it’s close to Coors Field. If everything goes to shit like Dean halfways expects it to, maybe they can catch a game.

He sits on the hood of the Impala, squinting in the harsh sunlight pouring across the parking lot. The grey concrete of the highway bounces it back and forth until the the world washes white. He flips the plastic key card to room 131 against his teeth, and wills his leg to stop jittering on the bumper. His eyes are strained from the road, he’s shaky from the caffeine, and he’s caught between nausea and lust thinking about the fact that he’s sitting in a parking lot in broad daylight waiting for his little brother to show up so they can fuck.

Premeditated incest. That’s what this is. Last night was a fluke, a dream, a drunken fantasy that didn’t count. This? This fucking counts. 

He should leave. Get the hell out of Dodge before he corrupts Sam any further. Sam, his innocent baby brother, who has been sending him the _filthiest_ texts all day. Dean been getting them in bunches as Sam drives through the dead spots of the Nevada desert and the mountains of Utah. There will be nothing for hours and then Dean’s phone will start pinging like it’s lost it’s little electronic mind, and Dean will have to pull over and read them. He read the first few while he was driving and almost crashed into the divider on the highway. 

_My bed smells like whiskey and sex. I jerked off thinking about you on your knees for me._ That was the first one.

Outside of Omaha, Nebraska, he got one that said, _Want to tie u 2 the bed. Do what i want._ Followed immediately by three more detailing exactly what Sam wanted to do to him. Dean stuck his hand down his pants in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart and came to the thought of Sam’s mouth on his body. 

Dean figures that for the rest of his life the sound of text message coming in will get him at least halfway hard. The phone pings again and he groans. _Just hit CO. be there in 1 1/2. DON’T LEAVE. gO In the room. get beer and food. dont’ go._

Sam must know Dean is a flight risk. His next text is _Pls. Please. Don’t go._

Dean exhales and slides off the car. He won’t go. He should. But he won’t. He pecks slowly at the buttons on his phone. _Not going anywhere. Rm 131. key at desk 4u. Already go tthe supplies._

He hits send then stares at the phone. He can’t let Sam beat him at the sex talk game. Dean has more game in his little finger than Sam has in his entire hand. His huge hands that will probably wrap all the way around Dean’s dick. _drive fast._ Dean types. _or i’ll start wit ho ut you._

Grabbing the bag out of the backseat, he opens the door to the room. It’s cooler inside, and all beige. Just so much beige. He drops the bag on the low dresser. Sam doesn’t have to worry. Dean’s got the supplies. Not just beer and food, but lube and condoms and whiskey. He really wants to know what it tastes like when he licks it off Sam’s lips.

The phone beeps as he’s pulling off his boots. 

_do it. touch yourslef and thinkof me. But don’t come._

Lust stabs like a knife into Dean’s groin, almost bending him in half. _Jesus_ , he thinks. How did this get so out of his control? He’s older, more experienced. Hotter. Sam should be putty in his hand, so how come Dean’s hard just from Sam ordering him around via text?

Oh, who is he kidding? Dean loves the idea of being told what to do when he’s getting fucked. Trouble is, who would he ever trust enough to give up control to? Only Sam. And it looks like Sam has Dean’s number in more ways than one. He doesn’t bother texting back, just strips off his clothes and walks naked into the small bathroom.

The hot water feels good on his tired body, rivulets running down his chest and back, catching in the hair of his groin and slipping down his cock. He takes his time washing himself, rubbing the small bar of soap between his hands to get a nice lather. He’s so worked up and wired even his own hands feel good. When he reaches his cock, he takes his time, stroking and pulling a little. Not enough to get off. Not because Sam told him (ordered him) not too. Just because anticipation always makes it better.

The towels is scratchy but fairly large, and Dean wraps it around him as he makes his way to the bed. Still about an hour before Sam gets here. He grabs a beer out of the case and throws the rest in the mini-fridge. Dropping down on the bed with a contented sigh, he pops the bottle open and reaches for the remote. 

In ten minutes, he’s gone through all the channels twice and finished half the beer. Despite the thick curtains and the best efforts of the small air conditioner, the sinking sun beats through the west-facing window and fills the room with a syrupy heat. Dean finishes the beer in two long swallows, and lets his eyelids droop. Just for a minute.

The click of the motel door opening rouses him and he lifts head, trying to orient himself. His hand slips under the pillow out of habit, looking for his knife, but there’s nothing there. The light from outside floods into the room, half-blinding him. Someone enters, and the light disappears with the closing of the door.

“It’s me,” Sam says.

As if Dean couldn’t tell. As if Dean wouldn’t recognize Sam blindfolded and deaf.

“Sammy,” Dean croaks. He pushes himself up on his elbows. 

“Yeah.” Sam walks further into the room, and Dean can see him clearly. For the first time in a year, they’re both in the same room together. Sam is taller, and bigger, Dean can tell in a glance, but he can’t take his eyes off Sam’s face, can’t look away from the desperate longing in Sam’s eyes. Sam is beautiful.

“Dean,” Sam says, voice cracking. “God, Dean.” And he’s across the room in three steps, reaching down for Dean.

Dean pushes up on his knees, and Sam’s reaching down to cradle Dean’s face in his hands, and they’re kissing. One year without so much as a handshake, and now Dean is pressed naked against his giant baby brother’s body, getting the oxygen sucked from his lungs.

He’d thought there would be talking. Talking about what they had done last night, what they were doing here. Maybe there would be some hesitation, some residual shame or embarrassment from last night. 

But no.

This is so much better. Words aren’t really their thing. Besides, what else is there left to say?

Sam smells like greasy fast food and exhaust. The scent of gasoline lingers on his hands, and his mouth tastes like cold coffee. Without taking his hands off Dean, he kicks off his shoes. 

Dean reaches down and unbuckles Sam’s belt, sliding it out of the loops as if he’s done it a million times. He pushes Sam gently away and slides off the bed to stand in front of his brother. Grabbing two handfuls of Sam’s hair, he pulls him deeper into the kiss. Sam’s hands move up and down Dean’s body, sliding across skin, nails digging in and pulling Dean tighter against him. His hands finally move down to Dean’s ass, and he groans like he’s dying. Dean pops the button of Sam’s jeans and shoves pants and boxers down in one smooth move. Sam yanks his t-shirt over his head, shakes his feet free of his jeans, and pushes Dean back down onto the bed.

The shock of their bodies slamming together is a revelation.

Sam is miles of golden skin and hard muscles, and the friction between them as they surge against each other is going to drive Dean out of his mind. Sam’s stopped kissing him, but Dean forgives him because Sam’s mouth is latched onto the skin at the base of his neck and he’s sucking and biting just right in between moaning Dean’s name.

Sam burns like a brand where he presses huge and rock hard into Dean’s stomach. Maybe all those assholes were right about Dean’s cock-sucking lips after all, because all he can think about is getting Sam’s dick in his mouth. His mouth waters with the thought.

Sam pulls off, rest his forehead against Dean’s, their hearts pounding in sync. “Dean,” he whispers. “Dean. God. Missed you. Missed you so much.” 

The pain and loneliness in his voice echoes what’s in Dean’s heart. Dean runs his hands up and down Sam’s back. He reaches his hands as far as he can, from the back of Sam’s thighs, over the swell of his perfect ass, up the muscles in his back and into his stupid, girly, silken hair. Up and down. It’s supposed to be soothing, supposed to comfort and reassure while Dean thinks of the exact right thing to say to make Sammy be okay again.

But it feel so fucking good. Dean’s fingers clench against Sam’s ass, and he can’t hold back a moan as his hips fuck up against Sam’s solid weight. “Jesus, Sam,” he whispers.

Sam shifts his weight, forcing Dean’s legs open with the insistent nudging of his knees. Dean spreads willingly as Sam drops down into the cradle of his body. Knees bent, Dean’s legs clench around Sam’s hips as they roll relentlessly against each other with only sweat and precome slicking the way. It’s not smooth, the skin on their dicks sticking and pulling. Dean tangles his finger in Sam’s hair, pulling their mouths together again. Sam’s fine hair is a mess of tangles from the wind, and it feels slightly greasy on Dean’s fingers. He’s sure Sam hasn’t showered since they talked, and the smell of him is so strong, filling the small room. And Dean hadn’t realized why every motel had smelled sterile and dead until right now.

They’re both so quiet. The only sounds are the hum of the air conditioner, the rumble of the traffic from the highway, and their soft moans, harsh breaths, and soft slap of skin on skin. The pink light from the setting sun creeping around the window blinds is the only illumination in the room. Sam’s eyes shine with the overflow of emotion, luminous in the dusk.

Kissing is beyond them now, and they just breathe into each other. Dean licks at Sam’s lips. Sam’s breath hitches so sweetly, Dean just has to do it again. When Sam’s mouth opens on a moan, Dean licks inside, running his tongue along Sam’s teeth, across the sensitive palate, feeling the bumps and ridges there. Sam whimpers and holds on tighter to Dean. There are so many things Dean wants to do, but almost all of them involve the unacceptable price of letting go of Sammy. All of them but one.

Dean reluctantly pries one of his hands off of Sam and reaches over to the nightstand. Congratulating himself on his excellent foresight, he grabs the lube he’d stashed there earlier. With a quick prayer of thanks to the no doubt horny packaging engineer responsible for the flip top, Dean flicks the tube open with his thumb and squeezes a ridiculous amount onto his fingers and palm. He rubs his fingers together to spread the lube around. It feels good on his hand. In one smooth move, he slides his hand between Sam’s ass cheeks, fingers dragging along the crack.

Sam’s head snaps back. “Dean!” he yells. 

Dean just keeps dragging his hand deeper, fingers catching against the rim of Sam’s opening before sliding down to cradle his balls.

Sam buries his head against Dean’s neck, breath hot on Dean’s skin. “Oh god, oh god,” he whispers as his hips thrust helplessly back against Dean’s hand. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean curses. It takes all his willpower to not just shove his fingers right into Sam. He wants to feel that heat, feel Sam clenching around him, see his face as his mouth hangs open, slack with lust. “Lift up, baby. C’mon. Just a little.”

Sam whimpers but pushes up on his knees enough for Dean to slip his lubed hand between them. The way Sam shudders and groans as Dean slicks up their cocks is almost enough to push Dean over the edge, and he breathes hard through his nose trying to stave off his orgasm. “God. Feels so good. Shit.” He yanks his hand out, and flails about for the lube. When he finds it, he squeeze lube out over his hand, the nightstand, and probably the carpet. He could give a fuck. He spreads more on their cocks, guiding Sam’s hand to wrap around the both of them.

When Sam’s hand wraps around Dean’s cock, Dean’s eyes roll back into his head. It feels even more amazing than he’d thought. And he’d thought about it a _lot_ in the last sixteen hours. He wasn’t going to last much longer at all. He slides his hand down Sam’s ass, reaches down between his cheeks legs again, pushing his finger against Sam’s asshole with serious intent this time.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Sam chants, rocking forward into the tight grip of his hand, slipping acroos Dean’s cock, and the rocking back against the imminent intrusion of Dean’s finger. “Do it, do. Please. _God._ Fucking do it.”

Dean’s low laugh is strained. “Well since you asked so nicely, baby boy.” He slides his finger in up to the second knuckle, and Sam’s garbled yell is _almost_ words. Dean presses further in, finger curving up, and Sam ruts against him hard and fast, fucking back and forth into Dean’s cock and onto his finger.

Every time Sam’s cock slips and slide over Dean’s, every time Sam’s clenched fist strips their cocks faster and faster, shocks of electric pleasure shoot up Dean’s spine, making his breath catch in his throat and the blood pound in his ears.

Sam’s teeth latch onto the skin of Dean’s neck as his hips loose all rhythm, and his dick throbs against Dean’s. His muscles lock up, trapping Dean’s finger inside, as he comes soundlessly, pulsing hard and hot over Dean’s cock and stomach, and there isn’t one cell of Dean’s body that doesn’t want to be fucking Sam right this second.

While Sam is still shuddering and twitching through his orgasm, Dean shoves him forward with his knees, freeing his cock from between their bodies. It slot between Sam’s cheeks like it was meant to be there, and Dean braces his feet on the bed, thrusting up over and over until his orgasm punches all the breath out of his lungs. Back arcing up off the bed, tendons standing out on his neck from the strain, he shoots up into the air, spilling over Sam’s ass, and spattering streaks of white onto Sam’s back.

“Holy fuck,” he pants, hands clenched on Sam’s shoulders, fingernails digging into this skin. “Holy shit. Jesus Christ, Sammy,” he curses.

Sam is kissing every inch of Dean he can reach without moving, and whispering Dean’s name over and over into his skin. 

They hold each other until their breathing comes back to something close to normal and their heartbeats slow. Sam’s kissing has devolved into his hot lips against Dean’s neck. His body is getting softer and heavier against Dean, slack with impending sleep like Dean’s remembers from 19 years of Sam falling asleep on him. He should be horrified, he guesses, but it feels more right than anything in the past year has. More than anything ever has.

He shoves Sam a little to the side, yanking and tugging at the blankets over the protests Sam is mumbling into the pillows. He spares a moment’s regret for how gross it’s going to be later, but he just can’t muster the energy to clean them off. Sammy is already asleep as Dean drags the blankets over them both.

It’s not thirty seconds later than Dean follows his brother down into the first peaceful sleep either of them has had in a year and a day.


	3. It will be by your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but smut. I'm almost embarrassed.

They wake up within seconds of each other. Dean’s consciousness fights its way to the surface first, shaking off the remnants of a dream. He'd been chasing a figure through a humid jungle of twisted trees with razor-edged leaves. Dean tries to grasp the fading details, but all he’s left with is the stinging pain in his palms and a hollow sense of loss in his gut.

The room is dark except for the glow of the alarm clock and the parking lot light filtering through the curtains. It’s late.

Sam mumbles in his sleep, face turned to Dean on the pillow. “Dean.” His name is a whimper on Sam’s lips, and Sam’s brow is creased. Dean stretches his neck and kisses him, smoothing the furrows away with his lips. “Right here, little brother. I’m right here.”

Sam slithers his arms around Dean, rolling on top. The way he burrows his head into Dean’s shoulder is familiar from a thousand nights before. They way he opens his mouth on Dean’s skin and pushes his tongue hard against the bruise he’d sucked into Dean’s neck just a couple of hours ago? That’s all new. Dean shivers at the feel of it. He hopes it lasts for days.

“What time is it?” Sam asks.

Dean turns to look at the glowing clock. “‘Bout midnight. Man, we went down hard.” He caresses Sam’s back, sliding his hand across the dips and rises of his muscles. Sam arches against the touch like a big cat. Sam’s skin is sticky with dried come, and when Dean trails his fingers down the crack of Sam’s ass, the tacky drag of cheap lube catches his fingertips. 

Sam makes a pleased sound into Dean’s skin, and rolls his hips against Dean’s. He’s not quite hard yet, but it wouldn’t take long. Dean smacks him lightly on the ass, the snap of it echoing in the dark room. “Something you want, Sammy?”

“Hmm,” Sam hums, rocking gently against Dean while he licks up the tendon in Dean’s neck. Dean tilts his head to give Sam better access. The room smells like sex and them. It goes right to Dean’s amygdala, makes him feel like dragging Sam into his cave and marking him as his. Makes him feel like fighting or fucking something. Luckily for both of them, the room is as dark as a cave, and fucking is imminent. Right after they shower. And eat something. Dean’s starving.

He gets his hand in Sam’s hair and pulls him off Dean’s neck, where he’s attached like a lamprey. After today, Dean’s going to have a spectacular ring of hickeys, and new biting kink. “We need showers, dude. And food. I’m starved. Are you hungry?”

Sam rolls off him with a groan, he scratches at the sticky places in the hair on his groin and abdomen. “Yeah. Starving. And I could definitely use a shower.”

Neither one of them moves except to roll their heads towards each other. Sam searches Dean’s face for something. Dean just smiles and rubs his thumb down Sam’s jawline. The smile Sam gives him is all teeth and dimples, the line between his eyebrows completely smoothed away. It fills up all the broken places in Dean, and he feels like he can breath again. 

So of course he has to pull Sammy back on top of him. Has to kiss that smile to see if it tastes as good as it looks. It does. What doesn’t feel so good is the way they are sticking to each other. 

Sam leans up and their skin sticks and stretches, pulling apart with a ripping sound. “Okay,” he says. “That’s gross. I’m getting in the shower. Next time, don’t buy such cheap ass lube.” He rolls out of bed.

Dean’s brain is stuck on next time as he follow Sam into the bathroom.

Dean stares into the mirror checking to see if he looks any different; if you can see ‘incest’ splashed across his face. 

Sam turns on the water, holding his hand under it while it heats up. It’s something they’ve always done, ready to jump in the moment it turns warm so they don’t waste a drop. He hears Sam step into the shower, turns to look, and thanks the designer for glass shower doors.

This is the first time he’s had to really look at Sam. The first time they’ve not been touching since Sam walked into the room. He did get taller in the year they were apart. Dean didn’t think that was possible. Bigger, too. His lanky limbs filling out, muscles thickening. His skin is tan everywhere, except for the paler stretch from just the middle of his hipbones to a few inches above his knees and Dean feels a flash of jealousy for everyone who got to look at his gorgeous little brother out in the sun with nothing but shorts on. 

Sam’s dripping with soap now, going through the routine the same way as always. Shampoo, conditioner, soap while the conditioner works. He’s not looking at Dean, but Dean knows he can feel Dean’s eyes on him. He takes his time with the soap, running his hands slowly over his skin, caressing himself. When he reaches his cock, he makes a pleased sound that Dean can hear over the pounding water. 

Sam lingers in the shower, running his hands over this cock, his balls. He’s enjoying it, but he’s not fully hard yet. Turning his back to the water, he makes sure to clean every trace of lube and come off from between his ass cheeks. Dean sees his back stiffen just a bit, and he knows Sam is pressing against his own opening. It’s hard to see through the steam on the doors.

Hang tugging gently at his own cock, Dean stand up from the counter he was leaning against and pulls the doors open. Water splashes onto his legs and the floor. Sam turns to him, eyes heavy-lidded. “Do it again,” Dean says.

Sam slowly gets more soap on his hand, reaches back and his fingers disappear between his cheeks. The hitch in his breathing and the flutter of his eyelashes tell Dean he’s slipped his finger in. His arm moves back and forth and his pushes deeper into himself, then pulls out, and does it again. Now his cock is starting to get hard.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Jesus, Sam. That’s so pretty. You just take it so well. Made for it.”

“Dean,” Sam whines. “Come in. Come on.”

Dean shakes his head. “I like watching you. Touch yourself. Get nice and hard for me Sammy.”

Sam groans and does what Dean asked. He leans his shoulders against the wall, hissing at the feel of the cold tiles. Water beats down on him, running over his hands as he works himself back and forth.

Dean steps into the shower, still not touching Sam. “Does it feel good?” he asks.

Sam nods, mouth falling open as he thrusts back against his finger.

The water splashing onto Dean is still warm, there’s no rush. “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sam groans. “Yeah.” He squeezes hard around his dick, and his eyes fall closed. He’s making the sweetest noises. Soft moans and curses, sharp exhales as his fingers push in harder and deeper. Sam’s body is covered with Dean’s marks, scratches from his nails, bruises from his mouth and fingertips. He’s the hottest thing Dean has every seen.

“God, Sam. You love it,” Dean marvels. “Look at you, so hard, so fast. Tell me how it feels. Come on, talk to me.”

“Feels fucking great,” Sam pants out. “Wish it was you. Your fingers, your cock.”

Dean shakes his head. “I want to see you, see everything.” He’s stroking his own cock as he watches the pleasure swirl through Sam. He really should stop if he wants to fuck Sam. And he really, really wants to fuck Sam. But his mouth has other ideas. Sam’s dick is so hard, so beautiful. Long and thick and Dean really wants to taste it.

He reaches over place his hand flat on Sam’s chest. When he drags his palm across Sam’s nipple, it hardens and Sam sighs. Licking his lips, Dean pinches the nub between his fingers, and Sam moans. Dean’s eyebrows rise up and his smile is wicked. “Yeah?” He pinches it hard again before Sam can answer. He shouts a garbled _Dean_ and his cock jerks hard against his belly.

“Fuck,” Dean says. He steps right up into Sam’s space. He pulls Sam’s hand off his body and plasters himself to his brother, chest to thighs, his hands trapped between them and pinching and twisting Sam’s nipples as he kisses the moans out of his mouth. 

Sam’s writhing against him, coming up on his toes in order to drag his cock as far as he can up Dean’s body. By now the water is starting to cool down. With an effort of will, Dean pushes away from Sam. He rests his forehead on Sam’s shoulder (damn giant) and breathes, fingers trailing lightly over Sam’s cock. With a groan, he grabs Sam’s shoulders and turns him away. “Go. _Jesus_. Go. Get on the bed.”

Sam practically flies out of the shower. Dean grabs the soap, lunges under the water, and washes off as quickly as he can. He knows he’s just going to get all sticky again really, really soon, but he’d like to start off a little less disgusting.

Shutting off the water, he grabs a towel and gives himself a cursory drying off as he strides into the bedroom. He stops dead, towel falling to the floor.

Sam’s propped up against the headboard, head thrown back, eyes closed, bent legs spread wide, and two lubed up fingers shoved deep into his ass. He moans, and sinks down further onto his fingers. 

“Holy fuck,” Dean breathes, and he crawls on his knees up the bed. Settling between Sam’s legs, he puts a hand on either knee and spreads Sam even wider. Sam stops fucking himself, and reaches out to Dean.

“Dean, god. Fuck me already.” His hips pump into the air, cock hard and dripping.

Dean can hardly breathe. How the _fuck_ did his little geeky brother turn into this, this, sex god? Dean’s never been so turned on in his life. And that counts the time with the twins. _Hmm, twins,_ he thinks for one distracted moment. Technically that was incest too. _Huh._

Then Sam moans again, fingers slipping just inside himself, like he can’t stand to be empty anymore.

“Yeah, Sammy. Fuck yourself for me. I need to see it.”

Sam shudder, but shoves two fingers in hard. Dean bites off a curse, but when Sam tightens his lip around a groan, Dean slides his palm down Sam’s cock. “No way. Make some noise, baby. Let me hear it. Hear how much you like getting fucked.”

“Shit,” Sam pants, mouth falling open. He slides his fingers around, hips shifting, sliding on the bed, until he’s got his hand braced against the mattress and his hips just pumping down onto his fingers. Thank god for long arms and long slender fingers.

His other arm is thrown over his head, clenching the edge of the padded headboard screwed into the wall. His cock bobs up and down with every stroke and Dean just knows if he touched it, Sam would go off like a rocket.

He shouldn’t be surprised, after the phone sex, and the triple-X-rated texts, but Sam’s got a filthy mouth. Grunts and curses fall from his lips as he fucks down hard and fast onto his hand. “Uh, uhh, fuck, fuck, goddamn it, Dean, fucking touch me, fuck me, do something. God, feels so good, so fucking good. Feel, uh, fuck, so much better if it was your cock.”

 _Jesus Christ,_ Dean isn’t going to last. He’s going to come untouched, just from watching and listening to Sam. _Damn it,_ he had plans. Things he wanted to do to Sam, so many, many things. And now Sam’s begging to be fucked, Dean’s dick is screaming at him to just do it already, and Dean’s muscles are locked up as his body clenches on the crest of a killer orgasm.

“Sam, Sam!” he croaks out, Hand flying out to grips Sam’s wrist. “Fuck. God, stop. You gotta stop, man.”

Sam forces himself to stop, yanking his fingers out. His hips keep thrusting against nothing, and Dean leans his head against Sam’s knee with a deep, heartfelt moan. “Goddamn, baby boy. You’re going to fucking kill me.”

Sam’s eyes are all black, the thinnest ring of hazel around them. He grabs the back of his knees and pulls them up with a groan. “Fuck me, Dean. Please, you fucker, just fucking do it already.

“Sweet baby Jesus, Sammy.” Dean’s laugh is high, wild. He pats weakly at Sam’s leg. “Yeah. yeah. God, yes. Gonna fuck you good.”

Sam flails his freakishly long arms around until he grabs the lube. He starts to pour it on his hand and Dean grabs it away. “Shit. You gotta let me do it. If you touch me now, dude, it’s going to be all over.”

Sam huffs and laughs, handing the lube over. “Lost your staying power already, old man?” he taunts.

Dean gives a pointed look at Sam's cock, hard as a rock and dripping down onto his stomach. “Like you are doing any better.”

“Last longer than you,” he pants out.

Dean places the lube down on the bed, and pushes a little away from Sam. He quirks an eyebrow, and licks his lips, sucking the bottom one in and biting it just a little. He looks down at Sam’s cock, looks up, and deliberately and slowly rolls his lips together, letting his mouth hang open just the tiniest bit. When he looks at Sam, Sam is shaking his head slowly back and forth, eyes open wide in something that almost looks like fear.

“No,” Sam whispers. “That, that’s not fair.”

Dean gives himself a mental fist pump. That is a never fail trick. His mouth should be a registered deadly weapon. “Oh yes,” he smirks, pushing back and sliding down to his stomach between Sam’s legs. Sam whimpers when he feels Dean’s breath curl around his cock.

Dean looks up from under his lashes, up between Sam’s legs. “Look good enough to eat,” he purrs. He flicks his tongue out at the tip, tasting the bleachy salt taste of Sam. The air forces its way past Sam’s teeth in a whine that goes straight to Dean’s dick. So he does it again. “Did you think about this, Sam?” he asks, knowing damn well Sam did because he texted him in graphic detail how he wanted Dean to use his mouth. But so the fuck what. He wants to hear Sam say it.

He licks up the length of it, and Sam shouts, hips rising from the bed. “Tell me. Did you? Did you jerk off thinking about shoving this fat cock down my throat.”

Sam’s cock jolts at that and he thrashes on the bed, hand grabbing at the sheet. “Oh fuck, shit yes, Dean. Please...god please.”

Dean makes a sound of approval deep in his throat. He pumps his hips into the bed, groaning at the friction. “Oh, you beg so fucking pretty, baby boy. Begging for my cock, begging for my mouth.” He tongues around Sam’s balls, feeling them hard and tight up against Sam’s body already. “Which is it? Do you want me to fuck you? Slide into you nice and slow and the pound you through the mattress? Or do you want me to blow you? Put those big hands on my head and just hold me where you want me and shove it down my throat?” Dean’s panting himself by the end, hips pumping and dragging his cock across the stiff cotton of the cheap sheets.

Sam’s almost past words. The only think Dean can make out is ‘yes’, ‘please’, ‘god’ and, his favorite, ‘Dean.’

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Dean says. “Lucky for you, it’s two for one day.” He pushes against Sam’s thighs, rolling him up higher, ass almost coming off the bed. 

Sam whines and groans, and Dean pushes in and licks across Sam’s opening. Only reflexes honed by years of wrestling with Sam save him from a knee across the face, as Sam’s body lunges up off the bed. Sam’s shout is loud enough to wake any of the neighbors.

Dean pushes up and clamps his hands on Sam’s hips, pinning him to the bed. Sam’s desperate, eyes wild, sweat beading on his temple and pooling in the hollow of his throat. All he can do it pant. It’s too much for Dean. He opens his mouth and takes Sam down as far as he can. Sam’s moans are low and continuous. He sounds like he’s dying, as Dean spirals his tongue around his dick.

As amazing as Sam tastes and feels filling up Dean’s mouth. Dean needs to see Sam’s face. Needs to watch him fall apart. They both moan as he pulls off with a pop. Feeling desperate himself, he lubes his cock up with quick hard strokes of his hand. He kneels over Sam, one hand braced on the bed near Sam’s head, one on the back of his thigh, holding him open. “Ready?” he asks, searching for any sign that Sam might not want this. Still not quite believing he gets to have this. “Tell me you’re fucking ready,” he forces out through lips that still taste like Sam.

“Christ, yes,” Sam cries. “Fuck me, god, fuck me already.”

There’s a pounding on the wall behind the bed. A muffled voice shouts, “Holy shit, fuck him already so I can get some sleep. Or come over here and let me watch.”

Dean leans down close to Sam’s ear. “We got an audience, Sammy. Let’s give the man something to think about.” He sits back up on his haunches, grabs his cock, and guides himself into Sam slowly but inexorably pushing past the resistance of his muscles.

“Ohhh,” Sam shudders as Dean bottoms out. 

Dean can’t breathe. The hot, silken crush of Sam’s body has forced all the air out of his lungs. He thinks he might have forgotten _how_ to breathe. He vaguely registers Sam’s giant paws slapping at him. 

“Move, Dean. For god’s sake, move.” Sam jerks his hips, trying to get Dean to move.

Ever the giver, Dean starts moving, thrusting in and pulling out slowly, savoring the feel of Sam all around him. Sam grunts on every pull out, moans when Dean pushes back in. Dean speeds up the pace, hips slamming into Sam harder and harder as he fucks his brother deep into the mattress.

It feels like Dean’s soul is getting sucked out of his dick. Sam’s walls tighten around him like Sam is reluctant to let Dean leave. Dean’s arm trembles and he lets Sam’s leg fall to the bed, dropping down onto his elbows. 

His head hangs down from his shoulders and he bites at the skin of Sam’s neck. “Feel so good, baby brother, So fucking tight around me.” 

Sam shudders and wraps his legs around Dean’s hips. His hands clutch Dean’s body so tightly into him, Dean can hardly move. Sam just rolls his hips harder and faster up from the bed. “Jesus, Dean. Fuck, fuck. come on. Fuck me, big brother. Show me how good you can take care of me.”

It’s only sheer force of will that keeps Dean from coming right that instant. With a growl, he pushes himself back up. He grabs Sam’s legs, hooks them over his shoulders and press up until Sam is bent almost in half, knees up by his shoulders. Pushing up onto his toes and arm, Dean just drives into Sam. Every time he presses against just the right spot, Sam shouts and jerks. Dean can feel their heartbeats pounding where they are joined.

“Yeah, take care of you. I’ll take care of you. Better than anybody. Better than anybody ever has or ever will.” Dean drives into Sam and holds him there. “Touch yourself,” he orders.

Sam snakes a trembling hand between them, as he reaches out for his cock, Dean pulls out quickly and slams back in. Sam’s hand clenches around his cock, and he arches from the bed, yelling, as he shoots out pulse after pulse of hot come all over his stomach, chest, and chin.

Watching Sam’s face contort with pleasure, feeling Sam clamp down on his cock, drags Dean over the edge, too. White hot ecstasy jolts up his spine and slams into the base of his skull. He locks up, shooting deep into Sam. When Sam finally stops coming, and his legs fall off of Dean’s shoulders, the change in position jolt another quick orgasm out of Dean. He groans from deep in his soul and falls down on top of Sam. 

He hopes their neighbor got his money’s worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I googled 'conditioner as anal lube' for you people. I hope you appreciate it. And for the sake of all that is holy, salt and burn my laptop when I die.


	4. Shelter from the storm

By unspoken agreement, they both fight the sleep they can feel pulling them down. Even though nothing’s been said, they know the light of day is going to put an end to this interlude. They drag themselves off the bed and clean up a bit, then start to dig through the mini fridge and the bags of food Dean had grabbed on his way here.

“Lunchables?” Sam asks, holding up the rectangular yellow box with a confused look on his face. He reaches in and pulls out six boxes.

Dean shrugs. “Gas station shopping. Don’t tell me you forgot already.”

“I haven't forgotten anything,” Sam says. He grabs the bags, Dean grabs the whiskey and two beers, and they settle themselves still naked on the clean bed.

Dean turns the TV and flicks through the channels until he hits HBO and a Sylvester Stallone movie they’ve seen a hundred times. Sam rips open the first box and pulls out the juice pouch. He sucks it down in three seconds flat. Dean sympathizes, all this fucking really dehydrates you. He nods towards the bathroom, and hops off the bed to get the some water.

When he comes back, Sam is staring intently at the cardboard box on his lap, tongue between his teeth as he tries to balance alternating slices of processed cheese food product and mystery meat on a tiny cracker. 

Dean laughs and shakes his head. “Mad building skills there, Sammy.”

Sam looks up triumphantly, a veritable Leaning Tower of Pisa of cheap cold cuts in his hand. “Ta dah!”

Dean’s heart gives a hard thump, and all he can do is smile and shake his head. How can Sam do that? He’s a million different people in one, and he owns Dean totally. “Very talented."

Still smiling, Sam opens his mouth and shoves the entire thing in. His cheeks bulge as he chews the wad of food, crumbs spilling from his mouth.

Dean bounces onto the bed next to him. “You get crumbs on the bed, you’re sleeping over there.” He points his elbow at the sweat and come-stained wrinkled sheets on the other bed.

Sam swallows, and reaches for Dean’s juice pouch. Dean holds it out of reach. “Nuh uh. Mine.” He offers up the water instead. 

Sam drinks it with a frown, then wipes his lips. “Jerk. And I was going to give you my dessert. Now, forget it.”

Dean points at the remaining Lunchables and the collection of junk food littering the bed. “I think we’re good.” 

Sam nods. Then there’s no sound but the crumpling of wrappers and Hollywood’s version of gunshots while they eat their way through the lot of it. 

By the time Rambo is getting his reward kiss from the fair maiden, Dean has opened the whiskey and is drinking right from the bottle as Sam slumps down, head on Dean’s chest.

“You awake, Sammy?” he asks, running his fingers through Sam’s hair.

“Ummhumm,” Sam answers less than articulately. His fingers trace lines and patterns across Dean’s stomach and abdomen. They scritch through the coarse hair at the base of his cock, and it gives a little twitch of interest. Dean can feel Sam smile against his skin. Dean takes a long swallow from the bottle and rolls it around in his mouth as Sam’s hand trails down his skin.

He holds the bottle down where Sam can see.

Sam looks up at Dean through his eyelashes. “Trying to get me drunk? Take advantage of me?” he drawls.

Dean chases the taste of the alcohol around his mouth. “Wanna see how it tastes on you. Want to lick it off your lips.”

Sam’s eyes grow dark, and he pushes up to grab the bottle. Dean finds out what whiskey tastes like on Sam’s lips. Like sex and smoke. An aftertaste more than a taste, and it’s going to be his new addiction.

The glare of motel rooms lights is harsh on Dean’s eyes. He’s tired, loose from the alcohol, and drunk on Sam’s body. He shuts the lamps off, and mutes the television but leaves it on. He likes the way the light flickers over them. It’s a comforting glow. Feels like home.

Their kisses are languid now, slow and deep, feather-light and teasing. Their hands slip and slide over skin as they explore each other’s bodies. Dean takes small swallows from the bottle, opening up so Sam can lick the alcohol from his mouth for Dean to steal back again from his lips.

Dean thinks he could do this forever; feel Sam strong and hard against him. Arousal seeps slowly into him, filling up his body like honey. He can feel Sam’s breathing speeding up, feel his heart beating harder. He slips his hands down to Sam’s ass and squeezes, pulling their bodies together.

Sam hums his pleasure into Dean’s neck, rolls his hips like a wave. He says Dean’s name like a song, like a prayer, like a question. “Dee-een, I really want to fuck you, Dean. Can I? Please?” He licks up the column of Dean’s neck, and bears down onto him, thrusting against Dean like he’s already inside him.

“Fuck, yeah, Sammy.” He reaches for the almost empty lube, and hands it to Sam. 

Sam pushes back up on his hands and knees, and nudges Dean until he rolls over onto his stomach. Dean goes willingly, head pillowed on his crossed arms. Sam settles his weight on the back of his thighs. Dean licks his lips as Sam’s hands slide down over his back. He stretches and writhes appreciatively as those wide, strong hands dig hard into the long, flat muscles of his back. He outright groans when Sam grabs the always-tense muscles of his shoulders and squeezes.

“Oh, god, yeah,” he moans, rolling his forehead to the mattress and dropping his shoulder blades to give Sam more room to work.

Sam laughs low and sweet and digs in harder. "Do you want me to give you a massage, or do you want me to fuck you?”

Dean clenches his butt muscles, trapping Sam’s cock between them. “Can you don’t both, Sammy? Because that would be awesome.” He can hear Sam rolling his eyes.

“I’ll work on it,” Sam answers. He spread Dean’s ass with one hand, and lets the lube fall from a few inches up to land on Dean’s crack and dribble down towards his balls. 

Dean yelps as it hits his overheated skin.”Cold! That’s not how you’re supposed to use that shit.”

Sam is trailing his fingers up and down the crack in Dean’s ass. He stops to press gently against Dean’s opening, circling around and forcing just the pad of his finger in. “Yeah?” he asks nonchalantly. “If I’m doing it wrong, I could stop.” He slides his finger in the smallest bit and pulls it out.

Dean’s breath catches in his chest. He pushes back gently, and Sam’s finger slips in even deeper. He shudders, not sure if it feels good or not, and he thinks that if wasn’t already so fucked out and halfway to drunk, he’d have pushed Sam off by now.

Sam must have some idea what Dean's thinking because he’s making soothing noises and running his free hand up and down Dean’s back. He doesn’t stop though, just keeps fucking Dean slowly with the one finger. He leans down a little towards Dean’s head, resting his hand on the bed. “Did you ever do this before? Let anyone fuck you?”

They way he says it sends shivers skitter across Dean’s skin. He just shakes his head.

Sam pulls out, drag his fingers down the length of Dean’s ass, gathering up more lube on his fingers. Now there are two fingertips pressing against him. He groans as Sam forces them past the resistance of his muscles. 

Dean pushes up onto his elbows and Sam’s long fingers push in and up, rubbing him from the inside. It feels good in a skitterish kind of way, like it’s not enough, and Dean wants to press back against it, help Sam find what he’s looking for.

“But you’ve fucked guys before? How you were, before, with me? That wasn’t a first time thing.” Sam’s voice is quiet, calm, as he moves his fingers steadily in and out.

Dean shakes his head again, trying to push back and up, but his legs are trapped by Sam’s thighs. He wants Sam in deeper, wants him to move faster or harder or something. He wants another drink. “God, Sam,” he whispers.

Sam twists his fingers around, and drags them against that magic spot in Dean’s body that he had heard about but never found before. 

Dean’s hips buck up against Sam’s legs, and he squirms against the mattress, totally at Sam’s mercy. 

Sam shifts, lifting first one leg and then the other over Dean’s, nudging him open with his knee, until Dean’s legs are spread wide enough for Sam to kneel between them. He hasn’t stopped finger-fucking Dean, rhythm smooth as a machine and it’s starting to make Dean’s head spin.

Dean draws his knees up under him, ass shamelessly in the air to try and get Sam to do more. “Jesus,” Sam whispers as his fingers disappear into Dean. “I can’t believe no one has ever fucked you.”

Dean hugs the pillow and groans, rocking faster on his knees as Sam keeps dragging his fingers over the magic spot over and over. Kid must have a map or something. “I can’t believe _you’re_ not fucking me yet,” he growls.

Sam exhales a shaky laugh. “Are you sure you’re ready?” He pulls his fingers out with a gasp, then shoves them back in. 

Dean hisses and pushes back. “Fucking sure, Sammy. I think we’ve moved past the foreplay. Just fuck me already.”

Sam’s hand is hesitant now. “Dean, I...I never did this, with a guy, before.”

 _Oh_ Dean’s eyes widen at the implications and lust makes his muscles clench around Sam’s fingers. He reaches down behind him and pulls Sam’s hand out. He looks over his shoulder, and sees Sam’s stricken face. He pulls Sam towards him, twisting them both until they lay side by side on bed facing each other. He drapes his leg over Sam’s and pulls them tightly together.

He clears his throat. “So, you never fucked a guy before?” Sam licks his lips nervously but shakes his head. Dean nods. “And did you ever, ah, get...?”

Now Sam blushes and looks away. That’s all the answer Dean needs. He gently grabs Sam’s face and turns it towards him, making Sam look at him. “So, that, before, with me? That was your first?” He can feel a grin stretching across his face and fights to hold it back.

Sam knows him too well though, and he fights to hold back his own grin. “Yeah,” he answers.

Dean raises his eyebrows, biting his lip and rolling his body against Sam’s just to feel all that hard muscle and soft skin. “So, I was your first?”

Sam’s eyes are soft and fond, “Yeah, Dean, you were my first.” He slides his hand over Dean’s hip, slipping his fingers in between his ass cheeks. “And I’m going to be your first.”

Dean lets the smile burst out now. “Awesome.” And it is. In a perverted, kinky, incestuous, romantic way that Dean would never admit to, it’s awesome to be that for each other.

Sam leans over and kisses him hard and hot. At the press of Sam’s tongue, Dean’s brain disengages, and his cock, which had softened, takes a renewed interest in the proceedings. Especially when Sam gets his hand between them and wraps his lube-slick hand around it.

Thirty filthy seconds of hot wet making out and sloppy handjobs later, Dean has had enough. He pushes Sam down onto his back and straddles him in one smooth move.

Sam grins like a maniac and grabs on to his hips. “Something you want?” he asks.

Dean grinds down on to Sam’s cock, dragging a groan out of his brother and knocking that smug grin right off his face. “Yeah, Sammy, just not sure you’re ever gonna give it to me.”

Sam’s grip on Dean’s hips tighten, and before he can process it, Dean’s the one on his back, Sam looming over him. “On your knees,” Sam growls.

Dean would argue but it seems his body agrees with Sam, and the next thing he knows, he’s on his hands and knees, Sam plastered against him.

Sam reaches over his head, not for the lube, but for the whiskey. Dean sees the bottle flash past his head, hears Sam swallow. Sam reaches down and offers it to Dean. Bracing himself on one hand, he takes a swallow, enjoying the burn. 

Sam’s hand is tight on his hip again, fingers digging in, and he feels the head of Sam’s cock sliding up the crack of his ass. Sam grabs it, holds it steady, and pushes into him. It’s slippery and his cock slides a bit. Dean pushes back, and they both groan when it pops in.

Dean’s head drops. That’s way thicker than two fingers. But it feels like it’s going to feel really good. “More,” he orders.

“Fuck,” Sam whispers, and pushes in, slowly and steadily, until he’s pressed up tight against Dean, and they're both gasping for breath. Sam pulls out halfway and slides back in, and Dean shudders, his head dropping between his arms.

“God, yeah, Sam. Come on.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says, voice shaky. “Yeah. Fuck. I gotta...you ready, man?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy, just fuck me already.” He barely gets the words out before Sam is pulling out and slamming into him hard.

“Fuck,” Dean yells, as his head is pushed into the headboard. “Jesus.” Sam is relentless, fucking into him deep and hard. Dean’s sure it’s going to ache later but right now it feels fucking amazing. He can feels his cock dripping onto the sheets. He braces his hand against the headboard, and starts fucking back.

Sam’s cock is pushing the breath out of his lungs. He can’t stop talking, like his brain is short-circuiting. Curses, shudders, groans, and moans falling from his lips. “Fuck. God. Sammy. Fuck, Sam. Sam.”

He can feel Sam thickening in him, getting even harder.

“Christ, Dean. Feel so fucking good. God, Dean!” he wails that last one, hands scrabbling to find purchase on Dean’s sweat-slicked skin.

Dean yells as Sam punches hard against that spot in him. He grabs wildly at the headboard, pushing himself up, trying to get more of Sam. Sam grabs him, sinking back down onto his heels. His arm is an iron band around Dean’s chest as he pulls Dean down onto the last bit of his cock. Dean’s arm grabs behind him, holding Sam’s head tight against his neck. Sam grabs Dean’s cock, jerking it quick and mercilessly as his hips punch up into him. Sam lifts him off the bed with each thrust, and the realization of how strong Sam actually is pushes Dean over the edge.

He freezes, ass clenching around Sam, trapping him, as his dick jerks, each pulse of orgasm feeling like it’s being ripped out from his soul. He can’t talk, can’t breathe. Sam’s arm tightens around Dean, he bites hard into Dean’s neck, and Dean feels Sam shooting deep inside of him.

When their muscles unlock and they slide down to the destroyed bed, no power on earth can keep them from falling asleep.

 

It’s true morning when they wake up. 10:13, and Dean feels Sam push up and look over his shoulder at the clock. He falls back to the bed with a groan, throwing his arm across his eyes.

Dean rolls over to face him. “Everything okay?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, it’s just late.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise. “Got somewhere to be?” he says with a forced laugh because he doesn’t even have to see Sam’s guilty expression to realize that, yeah, of course he does. Sam has school, and Sam has a life without Dean, and he needs to get back to it.

“Dean,” Sam starts.

Dean cuts him off with a head shake. “No, it’s cool. You probably have a test or a paper or something.”

Sam looks at Dean. He looks so stricken, so lost, almost on the verge of tears. Dean wants to pull him close, wants to push him away, knows he could make a flippant joke, make this less than what it was. But he doesn’t want to.

He pulls Sam into him, crushing him into a hug, kissing his forehead. “It’s okay, Sammy. It really is.”

"It’s not. It’s not, Dean.” 

He can feel the tears trickling down Sam’s face, running onto his shoulder. It’s not the first time Sam’s cried on him. But it’s been a long, long time.

“Yeah. It will be good. We’ll be okay, okay? I can come visit, yeah? I won’t make you drive so far next time.” He tries to laugh. It kind of works.

Sam snuffles against him, snot on Dean’s skin, and Dean adds it to the list of Sam’s bodily fluids he’s had on, and now inside, him. Blood and tears and come and snot. They are so intertwined.

“It's hard,” Sam mumbles into him.

“I know, but I’m never that far away.” 

Sam’s shaking his head before Dean can finish. “No,” he says, pushing away to look Dean in the eyes, serious like he’s confessing his biggest sin. “School. School is hard, Dean. Really hard.”

That is not what Dean expected to hear. His brow furrows. “You’re a freaking genius, Sam.”

“Everyone one there is smart, Dean.” He sits up, naked, skin covered with marks from Dean’s hands and mouth. “That’s how they got there. I’m nothing special.”

Dean shifts to hide his growing erection. That’s not what Sam needs now. Sam needs Big Brother Dean. Make it all better Dean. Dean can be that, be what Sam needs.

“You are so special. You’ve always been special.” He puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder, but Sam just stares into the room, arms hugging his knees. He looks about twelve years old.

“They all just know how to do things I don’t,” he barrels on. “About registrars and bursars and things I don’t know about. How to _be_ in the world. I don’t even know the things I don’t know! And I almost _shot_ someone. Had to get a room by myself because I kept hitting my roommates when they came in and woke me up.”

By now, Dean is up on his knees behind Sam. “Hey,” he says, hands squeezing Sam’s tight shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. I know. You’re going to be okay.”

Sam twists around to glare at Dean. “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about college. You dropped out of _high school_.”

Dean pulls away from Sam, hand rubbing across his chin. He’s got nothing to say to that. It’s all true. He can’t help Sam with this at all. All he can do is take him away from it, be a distraction, make it even harder. He sits up quickly, swinging his legs off the bed. He stands up, back to Sam, and runs both hands through his hair.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I”m gonna, ah,” he gestures towards the destroyed room. He looks around the room for some clothing, feeling naked and exposed like he hasn’t this entire time.

“Oh, god. Dean. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”

Dean laughs without humor. “Yeah, I know, Sam. You never mean. Why don’t you just shower. I’ll check us out, get some coffee.” He pulls his jeans on over his lube-and-come sticky skin, throws on a t-shirt, and walks barefoot out the room.

When he comes back with two cups of coffee. Sam is out of the shower and shoving his clothes back into his backpack. He looks clean and fresh, young and gorgeous, and Dean wants to push him against the wall and kiss him senseless. He doesn’t.

“Here,” Dean says, dropping a cup in front of Sam. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Dean,” Sam pleads.

Dean stops. Sighs. He turns and looks at Sam. Walks over him, and pulls him into a tight embrace. Sam sighs deeply, all the tension going out of his body as he sags into Dean’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he says into Dean’s neck. “I didn’t mean it. I’m just...I’m just scared.”

Dean smiles and shakes his head. He’s seen Sam take down a chupacabra, and some khaki-wearing douchebags scare him? Unbelievable. He pulls Sam’s head up, and leans up to kiss him. “It’s going to be okay. You are a genius, and a Winchester, and you can do this. And if they give you shit, just shoot them, okay?”

Sam laughs, blinks the moisture away from his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Can I shoot the professors, too?”

“Absolutely.” Dean kisses him again, not nearly as long or as deeply as he wants to, but he lingers, hands tightening on Sam’s arms. He pull off, drops his forehead to Sam’s chest. “I’m going to take a quick shower. I’m sticking to my jeans.”

Sam wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

Dean spreads his arms wide. “It’s all you, baby.”

Sam’s expression flicks between pride and disgust, as Dean walks into the bathroom.

 

Outside, the sun beats down from a cloudless blue sky. Dean leans against the Impala, squinting down at the Sentra Sam drove from California. 

“Look, Sammy. At least let me drive you. That plastic box of a car you stole isn’t going to make it through the desert again.”

Sam shakes his head. “I didn’t steal it, I borrowed it from a friend.” He sounds embarrassed, like Dean might scorn him his lack of larceny, and it hits Dean like a new revelation how actually fucked up their lives are, how far from normal they really are. For a second, he’s fiercely glad that Sam might break free from it; shake the grift and blood from his skin and shine like Dean knows he should.

Still. He isn’t ready to say goodbye yet. Not that he ever will be. He forces on a smile that wouldn’t fool a senile granny. “C’mon. Leave it here. Guy can report it stolen, get the insurance money. You’d be doing him a favor.” He pats the side of the Impala. “Don’t you miss her?”

Sam looks at the Impala like it’s the apple the Lucifer tempted Eve with in the Garden. “I...I can’t. God, Dean.” He looks down at the ground and then away, like he can’t bear the sight. “If I get in her...” he whispers. “If I - I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to get out.”

 _I don’t think I’ll be able to let you,_ Dean thinks, but doesn’t say out loud. He just nods, not trusting his voice. 

Sam nods in sync. “Yeah,” he exhales. He twists his head up, one eye squinted against the glare. “So, I should, uh,” he jerks his chin over his shoulder towards the highway stretching away North and South. There is a deep crease between his eyebrows, and his eyes are bright with unshed tears.

God, the price both of them are paying for this, for a chance for one of them to have a normal life. Dean thinks - knows - that if he begged, if he made Sam think it was all for Dean, he could get Sam to stay. He could seduce Sam right back into the life. And part of Sam would be relieved. Dean runs a hand over his face, cupping it over his mouth and chin, exhales. But there would be a price for that, too. Nothing is ever free. What could have been would haunt Sam forever. He’d start to blame Dean for dragging him away, like he blamed John. At their core, they would be rotten.

Dean would rather part knowing Sam loves him and wants him as much as he wants Sam, than have Sam and his growing resentment in the seat next to him.

Hand still on his face, he nods, staring at Sam. “Yeah, okay, Sammy. I know. You should get going. It’s a long drive.” He jams his hands in his pockets and stretches his shoulders back as far as he can, releasing the tension with a sigh. Sam with friends Dean doesn’t know, friends who trust him enough to give him their car without Sammy conning them. Unbelievable.

Sam opens the back door, throws his backpack on the seat. Dean stops him with a hand on his arm. “Still got your gun?” he asks. 

Sam nods, opens a side pocket on the backpack to show Dean the gun nestled inside. It gleams and smells of gun oil. At least Sam hasn’t thrown everything Dean taught him out the window. “Good. Good.”

They’re facing each other, about a foot apart. Sam’s back is to the door, and his hair is spilling into his eyes. His hands are buried in the pockets of his zippered hoodie, and, despite his unnecessary height, he looks about sixteen years old. Dean can just picture him in the bright California sun, hair sun-bleached, smile wide as he as he chases a frisbee across a green lawn, cheeks dimpling as he talks to some pretty blonde girl. And Dean knows. This is it. He won’t see Sam again. Won’t come to him needy and wanting, pulling him down to Dean’s level with hands and mouth and dark, whispered promises. Sam belongs in the sun, in the daylight, and Dean will sacrifice whatever he has to in order to keep him there.

He takes a step forward, closing the distance between them, hands fisting in Sam’s shirt. Sam’s arm fly around him, crushing him to Sam’s chest as Sam crashes against him with a whimper. Sam’s hand holds Dean’s head in place as he kisses Dean like he knows. Like he knows there is no tomorrow.

Sam bites Dean’s lower lip, tongues away the pain. His mouth is soft and warm, then hard and demanding, and Dean opens up for him. The feels of Sam’s tongue on his, flicking against the roof of his mouth, is so good, Dean doesn’t notice Sam sliding down the car to the perfect height for Dean to straddle his leg. 

Dean doesn’t want to come. Wants to feel this ache as long as he can. He pushes Sam away. “Come on, Sammy. Time to go.”

Sam stands up. “Yeah. Yeah. Dean, I,” he looks away, looks back. “Tell, tell Dad -”

“I ain’t telling Dad shit,” Dean interrupts. “Not until these fade.” He waves his hand over the hickeys trailing across his neck. He doesn’t tell Sam how infrequently he sees their father. How alone he really is.

Sam huffs a laugh. “Well, then.” He gestures to the car. 

Dean rolls his eyes, and reaches around Sam to open the door. “Get in.” He pushes on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam reluctantly folds himself into the cramped seat, shuts the door. 

Dean bends down, hands on the window, and looks in. The care has all the personality of a hospital room. A box of CDs Dean assumes are Sam’s from the writing on them is the only thing in it. “So what’s the guy’s name?”

“Brady,” Sam says, hands squeezing and releasing the steering wheel.

“Brady,” Dean snorts. “Sounds like a dick.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean leans his head in to grab one last kiss. “Be safe,” he whispers against Sam’s mouth. “Call me, text me. I’ll come running. Guns a’blazing.” He pulls away. Stands up, bangs on the Sentra’s roof. “Go, Sammy,” he says. _For the love of god, please go._

The car lurches as Sam puts it in drive, and Dean steps away. “Bye, Dean,” Sam says. “Thank you, for...for this. For everything. It means everything. I just - “

“For fuck’s, Sammy. Go!” Dean yells, voice breaking. “Just fucking go already.”

Sam nods, looking as devastated as Dean has ever seen, and drives away without a backwards glance.

Dean watches until he disappears around the curve of the northbound highway.

He knows it will be long time until he sees Sam again.


End file.
